Tag: democracy

The Christian Vote

I have two degrees: one in political science, and one in theology and ethics. I think a lot – A LOT – about the intersection of these two things, both in our culture in general, and in how I approach these two interests in my own life and my own public actions and words. While I’m obviously not leery of getting political – in terms of issues and policies – on social media and in my writing, I’ve generally steered clear of making supportive statements about candidates themselves. I’ve done this because I have been working out my own thoughts about the proper way to be politically involved. I have worked – I am still working – to find the proper line to walk between my passion for political work, and the importance I see in civil engagement, and a theological bent towards an Anabaptist, nonviolent/non-coercive, anti-empire faith. It’s a very narrow line to walk, one often difficult to discern.

It’s made all the more difficult by the current occupant of the Oval Office. I don’t want this post to be about bashing Trump. That’s easy enough to do, and he’s certainly earned that bashing. But what I mean here is, discerning my public calling in this particular time takes on an added difficulty, but also an added urgency. We are living in a time unlike any other, and we have political leadership in this country that is uniquely unfit for office and dangerous to our nation and to the people I care about most in this world. For someone wanting to engage thoughtfully and carefully in the political realm, the era of Trump serves only to obscure and erase any attempts at thoughtfulness and nuance. This is one of the most dangerous things this President brings the world, among so many others: a national tone of political engagement centered on brutality, line-drawing, and being the loudest, most extreme voice. It’s devastating to democratic political culture in general, and to finding one’s own unique political voice and course of action, especially if the voice and course you are plotting is one that is trying to be free from the traditional left-right, Democrat-Republican, progressive-conservative divide of politics. This is not, in short, a time conducive to deep, long-term thinking. It’s a time where everyone seems to be merely trying to survive, day-to-day. Existing inwardly, in an attempt to be more intentional about political and public choices, comes across as selfish, privileged, and tone deaf right now.

Nevertheless, this is where I have been, and where I continue to be as this crucial election approaches. But recently, I have come to a really important conclusion, one that is starting to drive my own political engagement, and one which I hope can start to drive that of others as well. In order to communicate that idea, let me first make a very obvious, but also very uncomfortable for me, declaration of political intent: I am supporting and voting for Joe Biden this November. I strongly supported and voted for Elizabeth Warren during the primaries, and Joe was pretty far down my list of candidates if you had asked me to rank them. But, as he wrapped up the nomination, I am content to support and vote for and even get a small bit of excited about his candidacy this year.

While that, again, seems like a rather obvious statement of support for someone like me to make, it is not one I anticipated making publicly, nor I do I feel comfortable doing so publicly. This discomfort arises, again, from my deeply held theological convictions as a Christian who takes my faith very seriously. I am in a place theologically where, generally speaking, I place almost no faith or hope in the workings of political leaders or state action. My faith is in a Man who was executed by a state very similar to our own today, a Man who came declaring God’s Kingdom, a Kingdom that is in the keeping of the Church, which is an alternative polis to the one we are left with today. It is, in the words of Augustine, the City of God where I see the hope of humanity, and not the City of Man. The City of Man, exemplified in the political tumult and actions of this world, is fallen, and most crucially, it is not and cannot become the Church, or the City of God. My political engagement in this world is never with the intention that this world will perfectly mirror the Church. It will always fall short. As Christians, we are called first and foremost to building a different example of being in the world, one based on the nonviolent, love-centered, all-encompassing love of God as seen in Christ. This is where my hope, and my chief work, lies.

That said, I don’t place zero importance on the workings of this world. We do, after all, have to live here, and Christ called us to envisioning and working for a better world here and now. And, in this country, that means democratic political engagement. For all its many, many faults, our Constitutional democracy, built on liberal Enlightenment values, does a pretty good job of ordering our lives together. And so, I feel good, in the here and now, voting for Joe Biden. I do so because – and this is the big point I want to make – voting is far from – it should be far from – the only form of democratic political engagement we participate in. Voting, in a democracy, should only be one small way in which we all participate in the governing of our states and cities and nation. When voting is paired with advocacy, education, protesting, civic engagement, and other forms of democratic participation, then crucially, who we vote for stops seeming like such an all-encompassing exercise of our political voice. In other words, when our only form of political engagement is going to vote once every two or four years, then the person we mark on the ballot completely and totally co-opts our voice and our energies. But, when we get involved in a multitude of ways, then that person we vote for only gets to account for a small portion of our public witness.

This is important because, too often, we treat who we vote for as a much larger part of who we are than it should be. When I go to the poll in November and vote for Joe Biden, many people will view that as a large statement on who I am as a person, and on what my priorities are at a granular level. But, what I want you to understand is that voting for Joe Biden is only a small part of my political and public engagement in the world. As such, I don’t feel the need to endorse or stand behind everything Joe says or does. He does not speak for me. He is merely the best choice I see on the ballot. He’s not perfect; far from it. Joe Biden and I disagree on a lot of issues. But, I don’t feel like I am mortally compromising my values as a person or a Christian by voting for someone I don’t agree with all the time, because I am willing to keep working in those areas, and through my work and advocacy, I am willing to hold Joe accountable in a more concrete way than I would be doing if all I did was vote. I really believe that sometimes it is ok to say: I don’t agree with my candidate on this or that issue, when someone challenges you on it. This holds true for the other candidates I am publicly throwing my support behind year as well: Kojo Asamoa-Caesar in our Congressional district, Abby Broyles for our Senate seat, Greg Robinson for Tulsa Mayor as my preferred candidate for Mayor, Kara Joy McKee as my City Councilwoman, Meloyde Blancett Meloyde Blancett as my State Representative. None of these candidates checks every priority or value for me. But I am willing not only to vote for them, but also to declare publicly that I am voting for them, because they all need to know that my doing so, I am saying out loud, to my community, that I am holding them to their promises, and I am going to challenge them where I think they need to be challenged. They have all asked for my vote in different ways, and the price of that vote is the reminder that their political power is only a small part of the democracy we all live and take part in.

My charge to you: go vote in your elections. But don’t just vote. Get involved. In doing so, you will more clearly discern what is important to you, and you will be able to engage our leaders not just at the ballot box, but every day, in a variety of ways. And in doing so, you can begin to see your vote as not the persona-defining choice of somebody who you must then defend to the death in public, because you have submitted your persona to them in your only act of public accountability, but as one small measure of your power as a democratic citizen.

Christianity and Democracy: A Statement of (ever evolving) Values and Priorities

Over the last few years, I have spent a large amount of time thinking about the interplay of public form of Christian expression, and modern liberal democracy in America. During that time, I have had ideas spanning the range of ideas from those in support of full Christian involvement in regular politics, to complete withdrawal from political engagement by people of faith. This idealogical drift has been the normal result of a seminary education; I have had the time and freedom to explore widely, to find what it is I really think and believe about a variety of topics. This interplay of Christianity and democracy is just the one most at the forefront of my own priorities.

Recently, I have drifted towards an ethic of radical difference; that is, I have been deeply influenced by the post-liberal ideals of people like John Howard Yoder and Stanley Hauerwas, among others, in believing that the church must be an alternative polis to that of the world. The church has a duty not to the structures of worldly power, but instead to the creation of a radical alternative to the commons ways of the world. The association of the faith with any one party, ideology, movement, or position is a dangerous and heretical perversion of the radical love and acceptance of God as exemplified in Christ.

For too long, I have seen up close the perversion of Christianity into some bastardized form more reminsicent of culturally conservative American politics than that of the Way of Christ. This always has and always will make me intensely skeptical of the interplay of Christianity with politics. This is a healthy skepticism, I believe, and I don’t see myself shedding my ethic of radical difference when it comes to the role of the church anytime soon.

On the other hand, I have a strong background and interest in American politics, and the workings of our nation and government. The hardest thing I find for myself time and again is my ability to hold some sense of pride and loyalty to our Constitutional form of government, without that shading over into some form of idolatry. I actively eschew both public and private shows of patriotism, including my daily decline to say the Pledge of Allegiance with my students. My faith is more important to me than any national identity, and I understand well that my family in Christ shows no partiality for national origin or ethnic background. Its for this reason that one of my absolute favorite parts of the Bible is Paul’s refrain that “There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.” The unity of Christ’s body is a first order priority for all Christians, and any other calls of allegiance from worldly structures and institutions must come a very, very distant second.

Nevertheless, I have always believed in the the importance and power of democracy as a form of governance. I have been very clear here, and in my academic work, that I understand the dangers and shortcomings of democracy, especially in its inability to impart moral and ethical guidance on its adherents, and of liberalism writ large. The classical liberal emphasis on individual actualization and freedom from any authority as the ultimate good is inherently at odds with some of the most basic tenants of Christianity. But I also recognize that our Constitution, and the form of government it prescribes, is an amazing creation, and one of the best statements of ideals formulated by humanity. Our inability as a people to live up to those ideals should not sully the good to be found in our governing document.

I also have a long held admiration for, and deep fascination with, our Founders and the ideas they advanced, formulated, and fought for, both on the battlefield and in the legislative chamber. While I reject any idea that they were somehow divinely guided or inspired in writing our Constitution, I do not deny their monumental achievement and the lasting impact they and their ideals had on our world. Yes, they were sinful, and shortsighted at times, and trafficked in some of the worst practices and ideas of their time as well. But they were also visionary, and they articulated a view of human dignity and possibility that they often failed to live up to, but which has been an inspiration to millions fighting for freedom and dignity around the world ever since. It is no coincidence that words of Jefferson, Madison, Henry, Washington and Franklin have been echoed freedom fighters everywhere from Vietnam to El Salvador.

I am writing all of this to say that I am still actively struggling with how to write as someone who is simultaneously a Christian who believes in radical difference, and also an American who believes in Constitutional values of governance. These past three years have been an especially formative time of struggle and thought, as I have observed the effect of Donald Trump on our world, our nation, and the values of freedom, democracy, and liberalism. They have radicalized me as a person of faith, pushing me away from Christian-backed political engagement. They have also crystallized for me how deeply I believe in the power of democracy, in the value of free speech, in the importance of the rule of law.

Going forward, I want to not only write about faith as a standalone interest. That has been where I have been over the last few years, and it has locked me into a frustrating time of writers block and timidity at the keyboard. I have shied away from public writing because I have been terribly unsure about how to write about my faith in light of the political, cultural and social issues and happenings that animate and engage me. I am trying now to shade back towards my previous commitment to comment on politics and current events in light of my faith, and as a result of it as well.

Am I going to get it right all the time, in terms of staying true at all times to my competing commitments and values? Not at all. There are times I will most assuredly shade into the overtly political, or times I shy away from commenting because I’m worried about subverting my faith. But I need to try. I want to write about how what I find most important and powerful about Christianity and theology; I also want to write about what’s happening politically, how I feel about it, and about my belief in the efficacy of our constitutional democracy, and my admiration for and fascination with the history of our national founding and those who participated in its construction.

One last word, which I believe to be perhaps the most important for me at this point: I have strong policy beliefs and positions, regarding everything from health care and inequality, to LGBTQ+ issues and (especially) our looming environmental crisis. I will write about these, and present my views rather unashamedly. What I won’t be doing, however, is endorsing or supporting, publicly, any one party or politician. While I have a background in Democratic Party politics (including formerly as a paid staffer for the party), I am not writing here as a Democrat. When my views align with any party, that is not an endorsement of that party. And the intense critical attitude I have towards our current administration is something I am committing to having no matter who the next president is (even if its my preferred candidate, who will remain unnamed here.) That said, I am someone who more often than not (but not always!) will be classified as “liberal” or “progressive” as it’s understood today, and as a result, I am more critical of conservative politics and positions, especially their moral and ethical underpinnings. But again, these criticisms, when I make them, do not constitute an endorsement of the opposing party or position. I’m sure I won’t always be read with the charity and good will I am hoping for in this case, but by writing it here, I am hoping to have something I point back to as a statement of values of sorts in the face of criticism.

The Shortcomings of Democracy

white and grey voting day sign
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I’ve written before about the relationship between democracy and Christianity. The piece linked here was from about three years ago, wherein I wrote that democracy does not ensure inherently more moral outcomes than other forms of government, but rather is just as subject (if not more so) to the poor judgment of human beings, and thus just as likely to produce immoral and undesirable governing outcomes (see Trump, Donald.)

As I was reading When War is Unjust by Yoder last night, I came across this passage that struck me as making the same point, but in a more concrete and insightful way. Here is Yoder:

In order to gain a popular mandate and seem stronger than their adversaries, politicians may exploit nationalistic and xenophobic, even racist, enthusiasms of common folk, thereby putting themselves under pressure to perform in a way as “patriotic” as their campaign language. Once the battle has begun and lives have been given, it is far more difficult to contemplate suing for peace. The medieval vision of the prince as a responsible and wise decision-maker, able to lead his people because he knew more of the facts, had studied the craft of governing, and had the courage and also the power to make unpopular but right choices, is replaced be elected politicians who become captives of the patriotic sentiments and short-circuited analyses their own campaigning stirred up. The medieval monarch could, if wise, cut the losses and make peace. Democratic leaders may be less free to be wise, especially once they have cranked up the fervor for war. Whether we speak of the relatively genuine democracies, in which popular suffrage is effective, or of the many places in which the facade of an electoral process is used to cover less worthy policies and less valid processes of decision, it often appears that to involve the masses in decisions about war and national honor does not provide for more effective defense of the real interests of most people. The issues at stake are subject to rapidly changing moods and to deceptive rhetoric. Decisions about whether to have a war, about what, and how long are not made more wisely just because there are elections. Democratic forms may well work against restraint.

I don’t post this as an endorsement of a return to medieval monarchy as a government (or, even less, as some sort of theocratic technocracy bringing together Plato and Aquinas.) Rather, I read and share this as a reminder of my point in the earlier piece: democracy is not a cure-all for what ails the world and the nation socially and economically. Those of us who have stood opposed to Trump since early on should know this as well as any, and in fact, his election is what awoke this line of thinking in myself. The same democracy that elected a Barack Obama is just as likely and capable to elect a Donald Trump. It is also just as likely to turn around and elect an Elizabeth Warren next time, and who knows what after that.

I do think this passage is interesting in the sense of what Yoder points out specifically as the things democracy does less well. He notes the accumulation of facts, the art of governance, and the ability to use restraint as three things that the idea monarch could bring to bear that democratic forms of governance fail at more often. The depredations and downfalls of monarchy often impeded the exercising of these good points, but then again, the depredations and downfalls of democracy often override the positive elements of it as well. The use of restraint, and the making of hard decisions, stands out to me most as what the American project in democracy is failing at most often; we seem unable, as a democratic populace, to make hard decisions involving sacrifice or the giving up of privileges, in order to achieve a greater and broader good. Our democratic guidance seems all too often geared towards maximizing our own good in the here and now, at the expense of any longer-term vision. This is evident on the right in the denial of and refusal to deal with the overwhelming scientific evidence of climate change; on the left, we see this in the drive for further atomization and individualization of the body politic, driving towards intensely personal understandings of cultural engagement at the expense of some form of national coherence and unity, something that is key to the success of any community of any size and form.

When I think about these shortcomings of pure democracy, it makes me think of how prescient were the Founders in this sense, in their writing in of checks and balances in our governing documents. Madisonian democracy, enmeshed in the Constitution, is representative and limited, for the purpose of ensuring some semblance of a ruling elite; I like to think that this ruling class could be one that is elite in it’s ability to make hard decisions for the greater good, in it’s knowledge of governing forms and policy, and it’s attention to facts and details. But again, the ideal runs up against the realism of human fallibility; history has shown us that any form of a ruling elite inevitably turns into a kleptocratic, oligarchic economic elite.

This all brings me around to the reminder I feel I am constantly banging away at for Christians, namely, that democracy is not a “Christian” form of governance, any more than any temporal form of human governance is. As we get closer and closer to the 2020 elections, we cannot lose sight of the fact that all the problems we face will not be wiped away by the election of more favorable candidates to higher office; even more importantly, we cannot forget that no matter who assumes (or retains) the presidency and Congress next year, our role as Christians is one outside the structures of coercive power. Even our friends need a robust voice of criticism pushing them on towards a higher vision of the Good, beyond the needs of the next electoral cycle. Christians are not democrats; we are Christians, first and last.